Rinse
by Painted Smile
Summary: Draco is sinking into the darkness of his own mind, and Harry doesn't know how to help him. In Voldemort's circle, change is coming, and Dumbledore is weakening. [HPDM SLASH]
1. Silent Abstraction

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of its charactors

Pairings: Harry/Draco

*

Harry swore as he shoved his way through the crowds towards the ticket barrier between platforms 9 and 10. A quick glance at his watch showed it to be three to eleven. He was so screwed. 

Without checking to see if anyone was watching, Harry gave his trolley a shove, and raced after it through the ticket barrier. The whistle of the Hogwarts Express met him as he ran onto Platform 9 ¾. Harry hauled his trunk out of the trolley, grabbed Hedwig's cage in his other hand, and leapt onto the train, which began moving almost the second he landed. 

Moving through the train, Harry peered through the class into the train compartments, looking for Ron and Hermione. About halfway down the train, he realised that they would both be in the Prefects compartment. He groaned, and rested his trunk on the ground for a moment. He really needed his friends support right now. 

The reason Harry had been so late to the station, was the same reason Harry had hated his childhood. The Dursleys. These holidays had been even worse than usual. The Weasleys had gone to Romania to visit Charlie, courtesy of the twins. Hermione had gone to some summer program in Italy, and Harry had spent all of his holidays in number 4 Privet Drive. To make things even worse, Dudley had announced to the family that he was gay. 

Harry growled at the thought of that. When Uncle Vernon had accidentally discovered that Harry swung both ways, there had been an eruption the size of Pompeii. But for Dudley? His mother had cooed, reassured him that he was still loved, and immediately quizzed him on all the facts of the birds and the bees. Or, in this case, the bees and the bees. Harry wasn't sure exactly how Aunt Petunia came to know these things, and he didn't want to know. 

Really, he shouldn't be surprised the Dursleys had reacted that way. What had made his summer especially awful was that Dudley appeared to want to... experiment... with his sexuality. When the pig-boy suddenly became unbearably nice to Harry, the Boy Who Lived wanted nothing more than to run away. When Dudley started opening doors for Harry, and helping him with his chores, Harry wanted to turn into an ant, or better yet, for Dudley to turn into an ant. And when someone started leaving roses and very suggestive notes on his bed, Harry was more willing to face Voldemort than to leave his room. 

It didn't help that Aunt Petunia was completely supportive of Dudley. While she didn't approve of his choice, whatever her little Duddie-kins wanted, he got. 

After reassuring Dudley repeatedly that he didn't want a lift to the station, and he didn't want to exchange to Smeltings, Harry had jumped on the Knight Bus the evening before the return to Hogwarts, and gotten a room at the Leaky Cauldron. 

The next morning, after waking up late, Harry had frantically shoved everything into his trunk, and raced out the door at twenty past ten. Downstairs he had been mobbed by not one, not two, but _three_ different groups of girls, all flaunting the latest _Witch Weekly._ On the cover was a grinning picture of Gilderoy Lockhart, and the caption 'My battle with memory loss'. Right underneath that, was a smaller picture of Harry. He had no idea when it had been taken, and he wanted nothing to do with it. 

After skipping past the girls, he had reached the station with minutes to spare. Which brought him here, standing in the corridor of the Hogwarts Express.

With a frustrated sigh, Harry picked up his trunk and Hedwig, and moved down the train. He shoved open the door of the first empty compartment he saw. Or at least, he thought it was empty. 

It was only after he'd stowed his trunk and sat down that he saw the pale-haired boy in the seat across from him. Draco Malfoy had changed since the last time Harry had seen him. The Malfoy heir hadn't yet changed into his uniform, and was instead dressed in muggle clothes. All in black, contrasting sharply with his pale skin and almost white hair. His cold eyes seemed almost haunted, as he stared out the window at the rain. 

The compartment was silent as the magical train pulled out of the station. Harry waited, tense, for the insults to fly, but Draco remained silent. Eventually Harry opened his mouth. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, but something about this was putting himself off balance. 

"Stow it, Potter." Came Draco's cultured voice. Harry narrowed his eyes, but shut his mouth. 

"I'm not in the mood for your small-minded hero crap." Draco muttered. 

Something in Harry snapped. The stress of Dudley's affections, the article he still hadn't seen in _Witch Weekly, _Voldemort and the loneliness of the summer filled him up, and he just opened his mouth and let fly. 

"_My_ hero crap? Everyone else's freaking hero crap, that's what! I never bloody asked them to make me their fucking hero! I never got a choice in _anything!_ Everyone just freaking assumed I can do this shit, that I can beat this evil bastard no one else can! I'm not fucking human to them! I'm just a bloody legendary figurehead!"

Draco's head snapped around, his oddly silver eyes locking onto Harry's. "You think _you've_ got problems? You know nothing, Potter. Absolutely nothing! My father is in Azkaban, my mother tried to suicide seven times this summer! _Seven times!"_ Draco's voice cracked on the last word, pain showing through. If Harry hadn't been so fired up, he would have been stunned by this show of emotion. 

"Everyone expects you to be the hero? Well everyone expects me to be the bloody bad guy! Everyone wants me to fail, and lose. _To you!_ Fucking hell..." Draco trailed off quietly. 

Strangely, all Harry's hostility to the Slytherin was gone. Maybe it was finally getting to yell out all the stuff that bothered him. Maybe it was finding out that someone had the same sort of problems he did. Maybe it was just that... Draco wasn't Voldemort. Draco wasn't his father. Draco was a boy, like him. Trying to grow up before his time. 

Leaning forward, Harry caught Draco's eye again. "Seven times?" he asked quietly. Draco nodded. "They... they moved her into Greensleaves after the last time." Harry remembered Greensleaves was an exclusive clinic for the mentally instable.

Draco seemed to feel he had let too much slip. He sat back up straight, and stared blankly out the window. 

The thoughts were chasing their tails around Harry's head. Malfoy's father was in Azkaban. His mother was in a mental institute. Draco was sitting alone on the train, and looking as though, was he not a Malfoy and in the presence of Harry Potter, he might be crying. 

Harry wondered briefly what Ron would think if he could see the Amazing Bouncing Ferret right now. He certainly didn't look like he was about to start bouncing. He looked lonely.

Harry knew what it meant to be alone. He knew there were times when people needed nothing more than to be left alone. And there were times when they needed support. Draco should not be left alone.

Harry began to talk quietly about his summer. About Dudley's revelation, about all the little unsettling niceties, and about the crude notes. Draco actually laughed when Harry recited one from memory. Harry had never heard him laugh, not really laugh. It was a surprisingly gentle sound. 

Draco immediately quieted, looking guilty. He probably thought it was wrong, to be laughing when his parents were most likely both insane. Harry wished he'd kept laughing. 

When Harry told him about the girls that morning though, a little smile crept onto his face. 

"Pansy was reading that this morning." He interjected hesitantly. Harry kept silent, waiting for him to continue. "It was another 'tragic hero' article, as well as painting you as the hottest wizard of the year."

Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow. Over the summer between his fourth and fifth year, not only had he shot up like a weed; he had developed some muscle, and, astonishingly, a slight tan. And, after having his glasses broken for something like the twenty-eighth time, he'd gone to Hermione for help, and she' found a spell for his eyes. 

 "Was it Skeeter?" he asked. Draco nodded. "She seems disturbingly fond of you. She described you in rather... glowing and intimate terms."

Harry stared at him. "As if!"

Draco's amused smirk answered him. "Oh yes, Potter. And you should have seen some of the fan mail. Before long you'll have your very own fan club. 'The Harry Potter Obsessives.'"

Harry sighed, resting his head in his hands. Then he raised it again, looking Malfoy in the eye. "Why aren't you in the Prefects compartment? And where're your gorillas?" 

Draco sighed. "I got sick of Pansy's ranting, Granger's bickering and the Weasel's glares. And Crabbe and Goyle are both already at school. They stayed over the summer for remedial classes."

"So... what have you been doing all summer then?"

"Fending off reporters and Ministry members. They all want to see my mother, and she can't deal with them. They're still visiting Greensleaves regularly though."

"What, so you've been living on your own?"

Draco nodded. "Mother fired all the servants in one of her depressions, and I haven't had time to hire new ones."

Harry nodded, and they sat in companionable silence. Harry watched Draco's eyes slide to the window, fixing on the raindrops sliding down the glass. 

"You like rain, don't you?" Harry asked. Draco merely nodded. 

"I like water."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

Draco turned to face him in this sudden change of topic. He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "Why not? I have nothing against you personally, just what you stand for. There's nothing left for me anyway..." 

Harry was sure he hadn't been meant to hear the last part. 

"What do you mean nothing left?" Harry demanded angrily. "There's everything left! You're only sixteen; you have your whole freaking life ahead of you!"

Draco shook his head. "The Dark Lord will kill me sooner or later. Most likely sooner. What's the point in living anyway? You're born, you live, and you die."

The empty fatalism in his voice opened a part of Harry's personality he didn't even know existed. The steady, determined voice that issued from him surely couldn't be his. It was too strong, too controlled. 

"No. All that matters is the living. All that matters is doing your best. And if what you say is true, then I'm right. Make the best of this."

Draco stared at him. "The best, Potter? But that's the problem with life. What _is_ the best? The best for me? The best for the people I love? The best for everyone? The best for _who__,_ Potter?" Draco let out a wild, almost crazy laugh that shook Harry to his core. He hadn't realised before how much he had fallen for the Malfoy image, of cold, untouchable purity. 

Harry didn't know how to answer Draco. He didn't know. How had a simple comment on rain, turned into this? 

Harry suddenly realised it had grown dark. "We'll be at Hogwarts soon." He said softly, almost as though he were afraid Draco would do something drastic. 

Harry turned, opening his trunk and taking out his robes. Draco's voice sounded from behind him, sounding almost childlike. "You can't answer me, can you?"

"No..." Harry murmured.

Behind him, he heard the slight whirr of magic, and when he faced Draco again the silver-haired boy was in his robes, the serpent of Slytherin embroidered on his collar. 

Harry flushed, not at all certain about changing in front of Malfoy. A flicker of amusement showed in the mirrored eyes. 

"The spell is 'Forloum'... unless of course you intend to strip for me." 

Harry scowled, and muttered the spell. Why did Malfoy have to go and ruin it – whatever _it_ was – by being a git?

Harry plopped back down onto his seat, looking straight at Malfoy. The other dodged his gaze, instead resting his cheek on the cold glass of the window, looking out into the black night, and the rain. Because neither of them had thought to turn the light on, the compartment was in shadowy darkness, and Harry could barely make out the silhouette of his... his enemy? Somehow the title didn't seem to fit. But neither did friend, and acquaintance was nothing near. 

"Why do you like water?" Harry asked. He figured if Draco was in a mood to tell him anything, he may as well get a glimpse into the other boy's psyche. 

Draco blinked in the shadows, and sighed. "Because it's clean. Because it's fast. Because... just because. Don't you have something that you love, just because?"

Harry thought for a moment. "If you laugh at me, I will hex you into next year... trees."

Draco cocked his head, sending the pale light from the hall in a shimmering dance across his hair. "Why?" he asked simply. 

Harry hesitated, trying to describe it. "Because... they're solid. They're always there, they just keep going. Just because..." he said, in a conscious echo of Draco's words. 

A sudden light flickered over Draco's elfin features, highlighting the strange expression on his face. He was about to say something, but changed his mind at the last minute. "We're almost at the station." 

Harry felt a vague disappointment that Draco had nothing else to say to him.

People stared as the Ice Prince of Slytherin and The Pride of Gryffindor exited a dark compartment together, looking surprisingly contemplative. 

Ron stalked up to the pair as they made their leisurely way towards the Hogsmeade platform, and shoved himself in between Harry and Draco. Harry felt a stab of some emotion at this, but dismissed it. 

Hermione met them on the platform, and Draco peeled away at the first opportunity, joining Blaise and Pansy as they waited for a carriage. 

"What were you doing with him?" Ron asked, looking disgustedly towards the Slytherins. Harry shrugged. "He was just... there." Hermione and Ron exchanged confused glances, and Harry shook his head impatiently. 

"Don't worry about it. How were your summers?" 

As they chattered on cheerfully about how great their summers were, Harry allowed the flow of talk to slide over his head. 

A small wave swamped his feet as a horseless carriage pulled up next to them. Neville and Ginny unobtrusively joined their group, and they all clambered into the carriage. 

Harry was silent all the way to the castle, his thoughts revolving around his strange conversation with Draco. 

The group stepped down from the carriage, staring up at the castle. Even Harry was snapped from his reverie with a smile. No matter how often he saw it, Hogwarts always managed to fascinate him. 

The light rain drenched their clothes, and they hurried into the castle, and then into Great Hall. As usual, Dumbledore sat at the Teacher's table, his gleaming white hair topped by his tall wizard hat. Along the table sat Professors McGonagal, Snape, Flitwick, Sprout, Madam Pomfrey and more. But, to Harry's surprise, he could see no sign of the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. 

McGonagal left for a moment, before trooping back, tailed by a lone line of first years. The children gathered in an anxious knot at one corner, staring apprehensively at the students, and the Sorting Hat, as it was placed on its stool in front of them. The rip near the brim opened, and the Hat began its song. 

_Way back then,_

_Before the days of yore,_

_They came together, great wizards four_

_Faithful Badger Hufflepuff,_

_Golden Lion Gryffindor,_

_Sly Snake Slytherin,_

_And Wise Ravenclaw,_

_And built this school for all of you..._

Harry tuned out from the Hat's Song, instead choosing to look around the Hall. Draco, no, _Malfoy_ was missing from the Slytherin table. Harry frowned. Knowing the prefect's state of mind, he wasn't too happy with Draco's absence. 

Harry tried to force himself to stop thinking about Malfoy. When that failed, he brought up one of his treasured memories, of Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret. But even that failed to help, as all he could remember were the squeaks of pain when the ferret hit the ground. Now that he thought about it, it really wasn't that funny at all. 

Harry found himself hoping that Draco wouldn't do anything stupid, although he refused to acknowledge what 'stupid' might entail. Across the table, Ginny Weasley caught his eye and smiled. Harry had seen that smile before. The red-head seemed to have one of those annoying recurring crushes.  

It had always been a little awkward, with his best friend's sister obsessing over him. But, as Harry slowly woke up once more to his surroundings, he realised she wasn't the only one. 

Dozens of girls were staring at him, and h could hear the rustling of magazine pages. It was very disconcerting. Harry gritted his teeth. He had to get a hold of that article.

Hermione tugged on his arm. "Harry! Harry!" she whispered excitedly. Harry raised an eyebrow in query. 

"My cousin just got sorted into Gryffindor!" she squealed excitedly. Harry looked confused. Her cousin? When did that happen?

Harry's rather stupid thoughts were once again cut off, as Ron elbowed him from the other side. "Take a look at Mandy Brocklehurst! Cor, she's turned out nice." Said Ron appreciatively. Harry had to agree. 

The last first year was sorted, and the food appeared on the golden plates. Harry became involved in a heated debate with Seamus about whether the Chudley Cannons could beat the Sheffield Shrikes. 

That night as Harry lay in his four poster, feeling safe and at home as he stared up at the regal red canopy, he spared a thought for Draco. The Slytherin appeared to be teeter-tottering on the edge of insanity. Harry fervently wished Draco could pull himself out of his darkness. And if he couldn't, Harry would. The Boy Who Lived needed no more enemies. 

*

I'm taking a break from Alvorecer de Amanhã, and this is my pet-project in the mean time. Review?


	2. Ice

Disclaimer: Not mine

* * *

Harry yawned, smiling vaguely up at the canopy of his bed. He was at Hogwarts. It was months before he had to return to the Dursleys. Both of his best friends were here, and both were still alive and well, despite the resurrection of Voldemort. All in all, Harry was feeling pretty good about himself.

Slinging open his curtains, Harry clambered out of bed, and crept noiselessly over to Ron's. Sticking his head through the sleeping red-head's curtains, Harry stared at him and grinned, a great luminous Halloween smile. Ron, subconsciously feeling the eyes on him, awoke, took one look at Harry and screamed.

"AAARGH!! ...... Frigging hell Harry, don't _ever _do that again...."

Seamus snickered. Ron shot him a glare. "Hey, you try and stay quiet when you wake up to this grinning lunatic in your face!"

Harry grinned again. Ron shuddered, and clumsily sprawled his way out of bed. Ron was never overly coordinated in the mornings. Neville, awakened by Ron's scream, yawned as he opened his trunk.

In the common room they joined Hermione. Already the bushy haired girl's arms were full of books.

"Geez Mione! Classes haven't even started yet!" exclaimed Ron. Hermione smiled and shrugged. "Never too early." She replied lightly. Harry smiled at their banter.

After breakfast, the trio hurried through the halls towards the dungeon. Double Potions with the Slytherins and everyone's favourite teacher. Harry was almost anticipating seeing Malfoy. The boy had been absent at breakfast as well, but no one else seemed perturbed by it.

As they entered the classroom, his eyes alighted on the silver hair bent over the book, surrounded by Slytherins and flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry frowned, searching Draco's face as he turned to look at him. He could see no sign of the depression, the emptiness of last night. Either it had all been some odd joke, or Draco was the best actor he'd ever seen. Possibly it was both.

Snape swirled in, his cloak flying up. Sharp eyes stabbed into Harry, and then, surprisingly, passed over him. "Mr Malfoy!"

Draco's head snapped around. "Yes, sir?" Draco asked. Harry was astonished to hear the wary note in the boy's voice. Draco was Snape's favourite, he had nothing to worry about.

"You're chewing Drooble's Gum. Spit it out. 10 points from Slytherin." The Gryffindors gaped as Malfoy resentfully spat out the gum and destroyed it with a tiny spell. The Slytherins on the other hand, seemed grimly unsurprised.

Hermione was frowning, her hazel eyes flicking back and forth between the hook-nosed teacher and the boy. She looked like she did when faced with a particularly perplexing and obscure question; determined. She wanted answers. Her eyes drifted to Harry, and she quickly scribbled a note to him.

_You were on the train with him. Notice anything odd?_

Harry paused. Should he tell the truth? This was Hermione, one of his best friends. She had stood with him forever, and he would trust her with anything. But something in him was jealously guarding whatever last night was.

_Not really. We didn't talk._

It was only a little lie, he assured himself. They'd been silent for most of the journey. Ron suddenly joined in.

_Hey, so no one knows wot we're talking about, can we call him Elfie?_

Their eyes widened, and simultaneously they turned to stare at Ron. He shrugged, and whispered, "He looks like one."

Still giving him odd looks, Harry turned his attention onto 'Elfie'. His eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Snape, but Harry had the distinct feeling he wasn't taking in a word.

Finally they began to collect their ingredients to actually make the Potions. Just as they were about to start, Snape held up a hand. "Crabbe, partner Potter, and Goyle, you with Weasley. And Malfoy," he said with a vicious smile. "With Longbottom."

* * *

A knock on the door roused Harry from his unhappy contemplation. The object of his study, his and Goyle's potion, had just turned a mustard yellow colour, and as it was meant to be turquoise blue, he doubted that was good sign. Goyle was hopeless, bumbling and fumbling his way through.

At the door stood Dumbledore, his white hair and beard almost luminescent in the dingy classroom. The only thing that rivalled them was Malfoy's shining hair. But his smile far outshone the tiny, imperceptible smirk that, for some reason, was still lingering on Draco's face.

"Excuse me Severus. Could I see Harry in my office for a moment?" the old wizard asked, his voice a little hoarse. Harry immediately abandoned the ruined potion, gathered his things and was at Dumbledore's side in an instant.

They walked in companionable silence through the halls. Harry had the feeling that whatever Dumbledore had to say could not be discussed in public.

"Peanut brittle." Dumbledore said softly as they stood before the griffin statue. Despite being in Gryffindor, Harry had always though that a little biased, and it made him wonder whether Godric Gryffindor had built the headmaster's office.

Settled in Dumbledore's office, Harry look inquiringly at the kindly old man. Or perhaps not so kindly. Harry knew well that, all along, Dumbledore had been playing his own game, smoothly spiralling towards some unknown end. He trusted Dumbledore never to harm him, or anyone else for that matter, without the utmost urgency. What bothered him were Dumbledore's definition of urgent, and what exactly the old man classified as harm.

"Well, my boy, there are several things I'd like to talk to you about. Firstly, Voldemort has left Britain."

Harry's eyes bugged out of his head. He'd never really thought about it, but the idea of Voldemort just up and leaving the country was suddenly as absurd as the thought of Ron and Malfoy dancing around in tutus.

"He has set up what, Snape tells me, is a permanent base in Hawaii." Dumbledore expanded. Harry snorted. Hawaii? Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the most evil and feared wizard currently living... was in _Hawaii__?_

Dumbledore gave him an amused smile. Then his face turned grave. "Harry, this is going to sound incredibly blunt, but you need to learn wandless magic."

Harry blinked. "Run that past me again?" Dumbledore obliged, and then added, "I can see from the look on your ace that you believe it impossible. What I am about to tell you, you must tell no one, not even Mr Weasley or Miss Granger." Harry frowned at the thought of keeping secrets from his friends. _That didn't stop you in Potions,_ his brain prodded. Reluctantly, he nodded.

"Why do we use spells when we cast magic? After all, spells are only words, and words are only sound. Sound has no direct impact whatsoever. What it does do, however, is create an image in your mind.

"What separates magic folk from Muggles, Harry, is not some deep, profound mystical power. It is merely a different sort of brain. All humans leave a huge percentage of the brain unused. There is one part that, unless you're born knowing how to use it, can never be put into action. All magic people and animals can use this part of their brains.

"This is where the image from the spell comes in. If the image is strong enough in this part of the brain, then the mind will twist reality to make the image part of that reality."

Dumbledore held up a hand as Harry's opened his mouth. "Wait until I am finished, Harry." He chided gently.

"Wands are, technically, useless. They aren't required for actual spell-casting. Neither are words actually, but at this point that would be far, far too advanced, even for you.

"Wands, like spells, are another mental reassurance. The thing about magic is that people have to truly believe that they can. If they believe that wands contain magic, then they will in turn believe that they can perform magic.

"This is not common knowledge Harry. To put wandless magic into practice requires a great deal of courage, confidence and belief in oneself. I wholeheartedly believe you are up to the task, but others are not. Take away their faith in their wands, and the wizarding community would be like sitting ducks.

"This is why you must not tell your friends. And why you must learn how to operate without your wand. It would give you an enormous advantage over Voldemort, as he doesn't even know about wandless magic.

"I have arranged for Monsieur De Clark to tutor you in wandless magic. You may still back out of it if you wish. But before you make any decisions, I should inform you that, were you to take the tutoring, I would deem you in need of some stress relief. Quidditch, for instance? I think we could see our way around that ban."

Harry mulled it over for a moment. Having been raised as a Muggle, he could accept Dumbledore's explanation of magic, although he knew most wizards wouldn't be able to. He was more than willing to take on the extra lessons, despite their added weight on his already strained timetable, if it meant his return to Quidditch. There was just one thing bothering him.

"Why do we use magical creatures body-parts in Potions, Professor?"

Dumbledore smiled benignly. "So curious, Harry. It is because, after a time, the sheer will power used in magic seeps into physical vessels. Some creatures just exude more than others. Anything else?"

Harry shook his head. He felt simultaneously honoured, and disappointed, like a kid who's just been told that Santa Claus isn't real. Honoured, because he'd been trusted with the truth, and disappointed, because part of the wonder of magic had been sapped away.

The corridors were cold, and Harry crossed his arms over his chest as he slowly walked back to the Gryffindor common room. "Mobilus." He informed the Fat Lady. She smiled indulgently and swung open.

The common room was almost stiflingly warm after the chill of the corridors, and Harry was swamped by a wave of noise and colour. He felt a sudden urge to return to the corridors, and drowned it immediately. Ron and Hermione were looking expectantly at him from a corner. Sitting with them was a small, bushy-haired girl with huge buck-teeth. Harry was reminded instantly of a rabbit.

The girl gasped at the sight of him. "I've read about you!" she cried, forgoing the introductions. "You're Harry Potter! I know all about you!"

Harry blinked. It wasn't every day complete strangers claimed to know everything about him, after all. "Umm, thanks?" he ventured.

"I'm Clementine." She told him bossily. From over her head, Hermione gave an apologetic smile. Ron rolled his eyes. _She's a monster,_ he mouthed at Harry.

"Harry, you forgot your quill." Interjected Ginny. She passed it to him with a coy smile. Harry was almost sure she had just fluttered her eyelashes at him. Thankfully, Ron took pity on him.

"Hey Harry, lets go play chess. The Great Hall would be empty now, don't you think?" he said pointedly. Ginny opened her mouth to agree, only to be collared by Hermione. "You'll help me show Clem around, won't you?" she asked sweetly, steering the red-head away.

"Thanks Ron." Said Harry, relieved, as they escaped through the Portrait Hole. "No problem." He replied with a grin.

* * *

Five minutes later, Ron had already desecrated Harry's pawns, murdered his bishop and was advancing on his castle. Harry had managed to capture one of Ron's pawns, and was hopeful of getting another one before Ron won the game.

Footsteps in the deserted Hall drew their attention. A slim, straight-backed figure was walking along the tables, clearly on his way to somewhere else. Ron halted his game, and stared balefully as Draco passed, a smirk firmly locked onto his face. Harry's own face was confused, and uncertain. That seemed to be happening a lot today.

Draco's shield was raised again. There was no chink in his armour, no weak spots in his defence. The icy wall was alive and well.

"Git." Ron muttered as he left.

"Why does your whole family hate them so much?" Harry asked curiously. He had learnt early that mention the word Malfoy around the Weasleys, and generation-old grievances would surface.

Ron grinned. "Glad you asked. They started it. The Malfoys used to be our servants." He said cockily. Harry gaped. "It was ages ago of course. We were really, and I mean _really_ rich back then. The whole family worked for us. If they still did, Malfoy would probably be our stable-boy or something. Do him good, I reckon.

"Anyway, one day this messenger came from the king. He said he'd heard we were planning to rebel, and as a result, all our land, titles and wealth were forfeit. There was an army waiting outside to make sure we complied." Ron explained with the air of someone repeating a well-known story.

"He also said that all of our stuff would go to the guy who'd 'informed the king of our grievous treachery'. Guess who? Centur Malfoy, our scribe."

"Really?" asked Harry, astonished. Ron nodded.

"Filthy Malfoys. They owe everything to us. Draco Malfoy's going to be the worst of the lot, I reckon. Carbon-copy of dearest Daddy, he is."

Harry had his doubts. The Malfoy on the train was nothing like Lucius. But then, the Malfoy on the train had been a broken, scared creature. Draco Malfoy was never scared, never broken. Always utter, impenetrable ice.

* * *

Smallish chapter this time. Review?


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